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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834618">Losing Control</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_pills/pseuds/strawberry_pills'>strawberry_pills</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Infidelity, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:42:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_pills/pseuds/strawberry_pills</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She needed him. She knew that deep down. In a place she only acknowledged late at night or after one glass of wine too many. She needed Lucius in more ways than satiating a sexual appetite.</p><p>Vignettes of Lucius and Hermione’s life in random dismembered pieces as they try to control the consequences of their clandestine affair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Losing Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't know what to make of this fic. I was watching In The Mood For Love last night and voila! Sorry for the grammar/spelling mistakes. My brain lacked the proper amount of sleep last night when I wrote this.</p><p>Title is from the song Losin' Control by Russ. Give it a listen!</p><p>Edit: I added a cover!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>i.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The melodic hum of the engine, coupled with the tightly engineered interior, kept the traffic noise at bay. Lucius watched out the window as a silent semi-truck headed in the opposite direction, a backhoe chained down to its bed. A group of motorcycles, flags flying in the wind. No sounds. Just the muffled vibration in the tan leather seat. Years spent in the Muggle world and he still can't get used to it. Like an ill-fitted suit. But for her, he would endure it, even try to find some solace in it.</p><p>The silence—it was like his marriage to Narcissa. All the pieces of a proper union accounted for, but still missing some crucial component, some spark. There was never any noise. Just a lot of polite conversation and shared dinners, and parties. Comfortable coexistence. Until the ground fell out from under him... Narcissa, why didn't he see it? How had he believed that she loved him? A quiet voice inside whispered desperation. She wanted him, she found him... but he pushed it away.</p><p>He glanced at Hermione across the seat. Her head was turned to the opposite window and he left her be.</p><p>His marriage, Narcissa, it never became what he had dreamed of in his single years. His earliest memories of his mother reading to him from a thick volume of poetry from their private library. The words and verses still ingrained in his mind and playing through him day-to-day. As a child, a teenager, and later, he had imagined marriage in those terms. Love, happiness, and the passion that came between. It was never like that with Narcissa. Always a sham, he just didn't see it until now.</p><p>He looked over at Hermione again but her eyes were closed now and her head rested against the seat. He reached to touch her shoulder, wake her up but pulled his hand away at the last second. He let her be.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Hermione sighed as she leaned back into the seat. <em>He's winning.</em> Winning what? That she didn't quite know. But he was definitely winning because she was losing something. Control. She was losing control. That was it.</p><p>She let her eyes drift close as the German engine growled and they pulled out into traffic.</p><p>Sitting in the car next to him, feeling his presence beside her, was providing her more peace than she had felt in years. She needed him. She knew that deep down in a place she only acknowledged late at night or after one glass of wine too many. She needed Lucius in more ways than satiating a sexual appetite. She stopped at that particular thought and kept her eyes shut as they headed to the Muggle hotel.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They didn't speak on the elevator ride up. Not in the hall outside of her room, or while she searched for her keycard and let them inside. The room was spectacular. There was a small, well-stocked bar off to her side, a wide living space with a dining table and seating area in the center. He could see a hall off to his left that he assumed led to the bedrooms, but the wall of windows was what pulled him forward. He looked out over the city and this high up, all Lucius can see was light. Pure white from the businesses around them, neon signs from the clubs and bars below, and beyond that, inky darkness. He couldn't make out a single star above. He never had this view in his home back in Wiltshire.</p><p>She moved around behind him, took off her robes, pulled a rock glass down from the bar, poured something, but he didn't turn to face her until she asked, "Drink?"</p><p>He looked to the pool on her balcony, then turned back into the room and walked forward. He took the heavy glass from her hand, had a sip of something strong, scotch, her favorite, and puts it on the counter. She almost looked the way she did then: those sad whiskey-colored eyes, her devastatingly beautiful face, but the shorter hair she had now helped cut through that softness. He wondered if she did it to look more respectable.</p><p>Her father had a heart attack. They were in Marseille having dinner when she received the call from her mother. It was a nice place, served mostly pasta dishes, half-empty this late on a weeknight. The look of pure horror on her face will forever haunt him. A few seconds after the call had ended, her phone started buzzing again, but she wasn't moving. Frozen in shock or fear or both. Seeing it was Potter on the caller ID, he tentatively picked up the phone, still finding the diminutive object uncomfortable after all these years.</p><p>She'd been surprised when he said he'd go with her to Australia. She knew he had a divorce meeting to go to, but he insisted that it wasn't important right now. She needed him even though she won't admit it. Too stubborn and too afraid. Dealing with words and emotions had never been her forte. And now here they were in her hotel room. She was heading to the Muggle hospital tomorrow and Lucius asked himself if he should go with her or stay at the hotel. His presence would only make things a lot more tensed than it was, what with her parents' disapproval of him and all, plus his ongoing divorce hearing.</p><p>She can see it on his face, but she didn't get offended or look ashamed. She wouldn't be Hermione if she did. She only wrapped her arm around his middle and pulled him closer, answered the question he never asked out loud. "I want you to, but it will always be your choice."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Then he kissed her softly but with a sense of urgency and desperate need as his cold fingers lightly trailed a burning path along her exposed skin. It was completely different from her previous lover. No clumsy fumbling. No sloppy wet kisses. It was calculated and measured and it made her breath hitch and her head spin.</p><p>She kissed him back with equal passion, and he felt like he's falling into a warm, dark place. Her mouth was familiar against his. Against Hermione's neck, her collarbone, the pulse point in her wrist. This, he remembered. He tugged both hands behind her back—forcing her into an arch against his chest, his mouth never left hers—and walked her backward into the bedroom.</p><p>He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, both of their eyes were closed. He didn't notice the slight tremor in her hands as she tried to hold on to her last vestiges of self-control. Did not show him how inside, she was slowly coming apart, undone by the continued silence from the presence of this towering man in front of her.</p><p>She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch her breath. He kept his eyes on hers and started undoing his tie, he laid it across the back of a chair and unbuttoned his cuffs, placed his cufflinks, and watch on the bedside table. She bit her bottom lip and followed his lead. Hermione slowly pulled down the side zip on her dress, stood, and left it on the floor where it fell. Her bra and underwear were next. She was kicking off her heels when he stepped back into her space, wrapped one arm around her middle, and cupped the back of her head with the other.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She let him kiss her the way he wanted to: slow and languid. When all she really wanted to do was spin them around, push him back on the bed and ride him until she can't see straight. Until she was slicked with sweat and want. Until she had wrung everything she can out of him.</p><p>Four years.</p><p>She can admit to herself, if not to him, that she had wanted this. Wanted him the moment she laid eyes on him that night at the Ministry party.</p><p>He kept kissing her and she wanted to move forward, but this was good. This sensuality. It was better that they started off slowly. He thumbed her hip bone before slipping his hand between her legs.</p><p>Yes, it was better this way. They have all night.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Afterward, they were still naked and he was on his stomach at the foot of the bed, methodically sucking a neat row of hickeys into the flesh of her inner thigh. He was vicious about it, used an edge of teeth, left behind big purple marks that will stay with her far longer than the ache between her thighs.</p><p>She should stop him.</p><p>She didn't.</p><p>She liked it.</p><p>The suction, the sting, the glowing heat it left behind. She imagined how they'll look days from now. The marks will be less pleasurable then, true bruises. Her eyes fluttered closed at the thought.</p><p>Hermione touched the top of his head lightly, her fingers combing through his long silky blond hair and he made a sound in the back of his throat that she was sure she'll remember until the day she dies. "I can't think when you do that." She breathed out, running her thumb along the shell of his ear.</p><p>"I don't want you to think. I want you to let go," he murmured back, and something about the way he said that, the way his voice sounded—offhand, hard—or the way his hand clenched against her thigh, it caught in her brain. Then he softened his lips, kissed upward to where she throbbed, where she wanted his mouth most, and she can't hold onto the thought.</p><p>Hermione had let go.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Later, as he laid asleep, her head on his chest and his arm around her waist, she breathed in the scent of him and whispered; "I love you, Lucius."</p><p>Everything felt alright in the world.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>ii.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was always the little things.</p><p>Hermione was at a Ministry event idly magically twirling an olive skewer from her glass of martini when she had laid eyes on him.</p><p>She hadn't seen him since the trial ended and he was acquitted of his past crimes. It infuriated her once the presiding jury had laid down their verdict but her outburst was held back when all she saw was a defeated, vacant expression on his face. A complete empty shell of the man he used to be. It was when she realized that their side wasn't the only one affected by the war, by Voldemort's presence.</p><p>Hermione had buried her past grudges six feet under and had let things be. It was emotionally exhausting to carry all that hate anyway.</p><p>All the way across the room, the light glinting off his cufflinks caught her attention first. He stood in profile in front of one of the high glass windows of the Ministry's new function room as he finished off a glass of wine. As he lowered his hand the crowd shifted and she saw him fully.</p><p>There were few things finer in this world than a man in a perfectly cut suit.</p><p>There was an unnatural stillness to him as if all the energy in the room had been sucked into the void surrounding his presence. The ebb and flow of the people around him shifted once more and now he was looking at her, head tilted ever so slightly to one side, a ghost of a smile played across his lips. His gaze called out to her and pale gray eyes compelled her to come closer, to answer an unasked question. She held her ground and willed herself into calm.</p><p>But she wasn't successful.</p><p>Her heart is a wild thing trying to escape its cage of bone and flesh; the rapid beat drowning out all sound. Has the world gone silent save for this ringing in her ears or is she the only one who can hear it?</p><p>Hermione hurriedly gulped the last of her own glass of martini for fortification, tossing her head back to facilitate the process. Her hands hung uselessly at her side by the time he reached her.</p><p>He took away her glass, wiped away the droplet of gin and vermouth still on her lower lip with a rough thumb.</p><p>"Hello, Miss Granger."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Three days after their ardent meeting, he sent her a single white rose and card containing a poem.</p><p>That's where it all started.</p><p>Their love affair was set in motion with a poem.</p><p>But neither knew it had already begun.</p><p>Four stanzas of rhyme. Four beats and stresses in each line. The words flowed without pause past the end into the next sentence. The rhythm steady as the ticking of a metronome, with the occasional spondee picking up the pace.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>It matters not how strait the gate,</em>
    <br/>
    <em>How charged with punishments the scroll,</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Two days later, he asked her out for a coffee. It was a harmless request. His intentions veiled under the guise of consulting with her about a law the Hogwarts governors were trying to submit to the Wizengamot.</p><p>She said yes. Her pure, kind heart would never turn down the chance to help someone. Even if it was someone like Lucius Malfoy.</p><p>That was what she told herself.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>I am the master of my fate,</em>
    <br/>
    <em>I am the captain of my soul.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Her heart said otherwise.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They met again for drinks four days later at the bar where Ministry employees often frequented to after work and this time, there was no surprise—only expectation. Lucius had arrived less than ten minutes ago but he had been waiting a lifetime for her.</p><p>"Hello," she said and it was even in the way she said it that he knew she had changed. The bushy know-it-all swot had graduated and the even lovelier creature before him was somewhat familiar and yet even more impenetrable than before.</p><p>"Can I buy you a drink?" And he watched as she ordered her own in reply. He tried to put his finger on it and it took him maybe two, three minutes of small talk about their shared love of Ancient Runes before it finally dawned on him.</p><p>They were equal now. He was not the father of her classmate, or even the intimidating Hogwarts governor anymore. As far as anyone else was concerned—those milling around them, the bartender, the colleagues, and acquaintances who waved hi and bye at her… as far as anyone around them was concerned, they were two adults sitting at a bar having a drink. No one cared. There was no social impediment. Even the difference in age melted away in a professional setting such as this.</p><p>He waited for her to finish her drink and before he can form the words, she smoothed her hair behind her ear and looked him in the eye.</p><p>"I'm famished," she admitted, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Can I buy you dinner?"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He was careful not to touch her, their hands, their arms a mere moment away but they did not touch as they meandered until eventually, they found themselves in Muggle London anyway. It was getting crowded everywhere, but miraculously they scored the last two seats by the window of a nearby restaurant—a trendy and, by all appearances, popular restaurant serving 'urban beach food', whatever the hell that means. Oysters, popcorn shrimp, calamari are the requisites for the maiden meal there, apparently, Lucius noted with a sneer.</p><p>And so they tucked in (although reluctantly on his part), Lucius keeping one eye on the prices, only too aware that he had foolishly agreed to let her pay. Hermione was a Ministry employee, after all. And government employees weren't getting any richer, from what he knew. And yet she didn't seem unduly worried.</p><p>It was slightly surreal to talk to her about work, but Lucius found Hermione a thirsty listener and they spent the evening leaning in over the din and the shrimps, their foreheads almost touching as they talked about the current political landscape here and overseas.</p><p>"I have two tickets to a play tomorrow. La traviata," he casually said. "It was Draco and Astoria's but she fell ill today and had to cancel so they gave me the tickets instead."</p><p>It was a half-truth. But Lucius was never known to be an honest man.</p><p>"You're asking me to come with you?"</p><p>"I'm saying I have two tickets…. Yes, I'm asking if you'd like to accompany me."</p><p>It wasn't at all what she expected from him and Hermione's lips parted a little as she searched for an answer in those pale gray eyes of his. Realization dawned on her as she watched his gaze fell to her mouth.</p><p>"Lucius…" she said quietly. "I'm with Ron."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"He's quite serious about me."</p><p>The look he returned her with. Lucius' silence was articulate and she flushed now but didn't answer the question inherent in the arch of his eyebrow. <em>And how about you? Are you serious about this Weasley brat?</em></p><p><em>I'm here,</em> she wanted to say. <em>What do you think, Lucius?</em> She should have gone to Romania with Ron and the Weasleys. But Hermione had been desperate to delay the inevitability of it all. Even now, she suspected Ron will get the ring on this trip. She suspected he'll pop the question within days, months of his return.</p><p>How did she learn to read Ron so well? Was this intimacy?</p><p>"Does this mean you're saying no?" he interrupted her thoughts.</p><p>Hermione smiled. "No…"</p><p>And Lucius frowned. "Is that a yes, then?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She was so close but they did not touch.</p><p>Hermione's dress was simple: a royal blue velvet gown with a single-shoulder neckline. It skimmed her figure, hugged her every line and curve before it fishtailed to the floor, cutting a silhouette that was modest, sleek, stately, and had set Lucius on fire.</p><p>He watched as she entered the room and even though he didn't touch her, even though she was not on his arm, it was ostensible that she was his and he tamped down the pride he felt and yet did not deserve. Lucius sensed the room stirred as individuals noticed her and he didn't mind at all that he was the blank canvas against which the art that was Hermione stood out.</p><p>She was stunning and for the next few hours, at least she was all his to stare at and not touch. But when she turned her swan-like neck to face him, to smile that small secret smile, a rush of feeling took away yet another breath and all he can do was to glance away and steel himself.</p><p>She sat beside him and because they were facing the stage, she pulled her chair to his side so she was now only a little ways in front of him. They never touched, but at some point in the evening, he found himself resting his hand on the top of her chair just behind the nape of her neck.</p><p>It took considerable willpower not to reach out, not to let a finger graze across the soft, smooth skin. Not to wonder if a ripple of goosebumps will greet his touch in return.</p><p>She belonged to another, he knew. And just to be beside her now, to watch the entertainment and hear her laugh and enjoy the night…</p><p>It was enough. It had to be enough.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>iii.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She didn't have anywhere else to go. Everything around her was suffocating her like a noose that got tighter, the heavier everything got. So, Lucius showing up when she called, hands shaking, voice choking and trembling—Lucius being the only person she could count on, again—was a welcome surprise.</p><p>Somehow, he understood that she didn't want to talk, about anything. When she stopped clinging to him like the lifeline he was, he apparated her to the Manor without a word and ushered her inside. He took her to the library and Lucius respected her silence while she tried to sort out her feelings.</p><p>"Where's Draco?"</p><p>"He's on his way to Prague right now."</p><p>At her confused look, Lucius explained to her that Draco was attending a meeting of shareholders for him. She nodded, not fully understanding what that meant.</p><p>She was exhausted, dead tired to the bone. When everything around her had unraveled, she thought her chest was going to explode. She still had asthma attacks at the age of twenty-seven. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly while counting to ten. When she could breathe naturally on her own, she called Lucius.</p><p>Now that she was here alive and normally breathing, what was she going to make of it?</p><p>"Thanks," she said softly when he shut the front door behind her, finally disturbing the quiet. "If I couldn't borrow your couch tonight, I'm not sure where I would go."</p><p>He rolled his eyes at her but she could see that it was half-hearted, teasing. "Hermione, you're not sleeping on the couch." With a light hand on her shoulder, he directed her upstairs. "The Manor has a lot of spare bedrooms. You'll be okay here; I'm just next door if you need anything."</p><p>Hermione nodded, offered him a grateful smile, and fell asleep almost immediately–fully clothed and with the door slightly ajar.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He found her there, still sprawled out atop the covers, on his way to bed. Shaking his head, he grabbed the folded quilt from the dresser and draped it over her.</p><p>"It's going to get cold," Lucius told her in a low voice as he softly stroked her cheek, then stepped back. "And harder. I'm so sorry, Hermione, that I should've just stayed away, but I couldn't."</p><p>He paused just inside the doorframe, let himself gaze at her for a moment. After all, he was partly to blame for all her current problems. His growing feelings for her were confusing to him, and he often tried to avoid thinking about her, so he wouldn't have to analyze himself, but there was no denying that he was falling in love with her, and had been for quite some time.</p><p>When she called a while ago, he thought something really bad happened. It was obvious she was having panic attacks. She told him that the Weasley brat cheated on her and had gotten the woman pregnant. Lucius felt his heart drop to the floor. He merely wanted to show her what her life could be like if she was free but his presence in her life had caused a rift between her and her lover and now everything had fallen apart for her. He knew from his own experience how hard it was. The next thing he knew, he was rushing to the door, leaving Draco instructions as he went. Business be damned.</p><p>Instead of staying away, he continued seeing her under the pretense of just being friends. Apparently, it went more than that for her too, hence the reason why she felt this way at the news of her ex-boyfriend's affair, but now he needed to sort this out. She had a respectable career, loving friends, and a bright future ahead of her. Things he'll never have, and Merlin knows, everything he touched got corrupted.</p><p>"I'm going to sort this out. And you'll be okay. You're stronger than you know."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Lucius shut his own bedroom door but didn't lock it, in case she needed him, Hermione opened her eyes. For some reason, Lucius approaching had woken her—despite how gentle he was. She couldn't tell him that she was awake; she didn't feel capable of facing the heavy guilt in his tone right now.</p><p>Unable to relax again, she got up and left the borrowed room. The Manor was a magnificent and imposing structure that had lived for centuries. Hermione never really had the time to appreciate its beauty and splendor. Moving paintings lined up the walls while marble statues stood still at each corner of the hall. Impersonal and superficial. Nothing here was reminding Hermione of her own home. The one where she and Ron lived which was full of framed pictures of his and her family, memorabilia from their vacations, and Crookshanks running around. This place was a loner's place. Or maybe this was just how the Malfoys preferred it.</p><p>Hermione entered the library and noticed a few magazines on top of the coffee table. Some were in English and some were in different languages. She was about to sit on the sleek black sofa when it hit her.</p><p>Draco was on his way to Prague right now.</p><p>He was on his way to attend a meeting that Lucius was supposed to be in.</p><p>Hermione realized that when she had called him a while ago, he was with Draco and was probably on his way to his meeting. For some reason, he dropped everything and went to her and it made her feel more uneased about the whole situation.</p><p>She could've gone to her friends but what would she say? That Ron told her he was having an affair and that he had gotten the woman pregnant? That the reason why he cheated on her was because she couldn't fulfill his needs anymore? That she was inadequate? Fear of them agreeing with Ron was what stopped her. And with a sinking feeling, she realized that she had no one besides Lucius.</p><p>And what about him? The man who had been there for her when she and Ron would get into a fight. Lucius was a constant presence. A willing shoulder to cry on. A patient ear that would listen as she raged on about her failing relationship. And who was here now for her when everything had crumbled to pieces. He had redefined in every way what unconditional love was.</p><p>All through her life, she had made it all on her own. Hermione had stopped relying on her parents the moment she stepped into Hogwarts because this was never their world. And then she knew how important it was to never depend on others.</p><p>She was not afraid. She refused to consider the possibility that she was scared of the importance of this gesture. It wasn't about what him giving her a place meant; it was about what it would mean if she accepted it.</p><p>It would mean too much.</p><p>She wrote him a note, something short and to the point. This was her mess. Complications will follow them wherever they went, and she wanted to sort out her life first. And when the time was right, she would come to him.</p><p>She didn't tell him that.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I can't stay," she whispered as she paused by his bedside. "I hope you'll understand. I need…" she shook her head. "I'm really grateful, but I can't stay."</p><p>Lucius waited until he heard the door click shut behind her before he sat up and stared at the note on the bed.</p><p>He was a light sleeper; a prerequisite for the corporate life he led. So, of course, he heard every word… of course, he considered interrupting her. Stopping her. Doing something.</p><p>Instead, he let her go.</p><p>She had never been his to hold on to.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>iv.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The izakaya was mostly empty in the early evening. A few older Muggle men in business suits hurriedly finish their dinner before braving the tube rush hour. It was a small place, of weathered wood, tucked away in one of the narrow, twisting back alleys, a couple of hundred meters away from the main thoroughfare of Muggle London. Access was granted through the worn sliding shōji, almost all but hidden behind an akachōchin, a large lantern that extends nearly from ceiling to floor, pressed paper now faded from the many years it has spent hanging at the entryway. It was not a place most tourists would think to look for, and only the locals who have lived there all their lives knew of its existence.</p><p>These two, the dark-haired woman with the wild curls and the man with hair the color of a bright pale moon sitting above the sky, sat with the ease of familiarity, their movements deft and sure as they ate in companionable silence, interrupted only by the sound of the chopstick clicking on occasion.</p><p>Eventually, it was she who broke the silence.</p><p>"Ron proposed to me," she whispered.</p><p>She wasn't sure he heard her because he merely continued eating, entirely focused only on his meal. His fine, long-fingered hand gracefully picked up a piece of blowtorched hamachi with his chopsticks.</p><p>Hermione looked down at her own food, missing the way his hand trembled slightly. The perfect control he had of his façade crumbled for a fraction before returning to its aristocratic haughty form.</p><p>"Congratulations," he said. The word sounded flat and hollow even to his own ears. Like rehearsed words from a politician's mouth.</p><p>"I didn't say yes."</p><p>He looked up then. His eyes were wide as saucers, hopeful. "Why?"</p><p>But Hermione just shrugged her shoulders as if it was something inconsequential. Like deciding whether to pick the black or blue dress.</p><p>Lucius got his answer later when she kissed him in the back alley under the full moon.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He loved her with his hands, his tongue, his body a tool for her pleasure. When he finally undressed her, peeled her clothing off layer by layer by layer, when he finally reached her center, finally touched her flesh warm and smooth and supple, the fire in the hearth had sunk so low that her wild chestnut hair vanished into the reddish-black of the room.</p><p>Lucius felt rather than saw her, on his way down. He felt the concave of her stomach when his tongue flicked over the rosy buds of her small pale breasts. His humble skin and bones made for her worship, a faith he had never dreamed of until Hermione.</p><p>
  <em>Hermione.</em>
</p><p>She could be his religion; she could be his reason—if she could only be his.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Tell me what you like."</p><p>And this time, it was difficult to speak even though her mouth was open in ecstasy while his was otherwise engaged. His hot breath against her skin sent shivers all over her. She watched her knees shake with nerves as he brought his mouth to her, and her back bucked up off the chair when his tongue slid in between her folds. He supped on her like a man used to eternity.</p><p>"Tell me what you really like," and she squeezed her eyes shut, reddening. But this was Lucius Malfoy. Ironically, she didn't feel the slightest bit afraid.</p><p>"Face me down, close my legs so I am tight, hold my hands so I cannot move. Then take me."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Lucius sighed, as he pushed himself up on his elbows, brushed her hair back from her face as he studied it, noting her too-bright eyes, pupils blown wide, iris a thin rim of black on the periphery, the flush of arousal high on her cheeks, her breathing fast and shallow. He noted the fine tremor in her limbs, that she was holding on by barely a thread, and he had only just begun.</p><p>People think that was where the story ends, boy gets girl and everybody lived happily ever after as they went off hand in hand into the sunset. But that was not it. That was where the real story began.</p><p>Or maybe it had already started.</p><p>The fearless war heroine fell and she took him along with her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>v.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The power of suggestion was an insidious thing.</p><p>Lucius Malfoy found that once the idea of a torrid affair took seed, it never completely went away. He would stand in the shower and get very hard just picturing a faceless woman tracing her finger over his erect cock.</p><p>His wife was probably somewhere in Italy in the arms of her current lover.</p><p>Watching some of his peers guiltlessly indulge in paramour after paramour only fueled his own growing sense of dissatisfaction with his mostly empty marital bed.</p><p>It was almost the end of summer. Exactly five years after the war when he saw her again.</p><p>He felt someone was watching him. Years of being in the Dark Lord's presence had made him quite attuned to his surroundings. Turning around, he was surprised to see her observing him with such vehemence.</p><p>In his broad view of the function room behind her, the decorations exploded in a riot of colors, a drizzle of confetti falling red and gold in waves. It all paled in comparison to the young girl in front of him. Wisps of her chocolate hair framed her heart-shaped face. Lucius thought he could start composing sonnets, odes to the hollow where her collarbones met at the base of her neck.</p><p>He did not believe in love at first sight, did not believe in angels. He most certainly did not believe in destiny.</p><p>What he did believe in was this: This girl was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.</p><p>She was also entirely too young for him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He was not alone.</p><p>He felt eyes on him; felt his skin crawl with the defenseless vulnerability being naked with a stranger brings.</p><p>But she was not a stranger, wasn't she?</p><p>The bed shifted beneath them and he knew his companion had made a move to get out. He would, too, had he been the one to wake up in a bed that was not his. As it was, the feel of the sheets was familiar, as was the play of light over his still-closed lids. The air was cool on his exposed skin.</p><p>Though the temptation to feign sleep until she's gone away was strong, he took a deep breath and cracked an eye open.</p><p>In the morning half-light, she was incandescent. Alabaster skin, smooth as a liar's tongue, glowing like Venus de Milo at the Louvre museum.</p><p>Her dark auburn hair was a flowing waterfall cascading down her back, individual wisps in rusted golden illumination.</p><p>Not five minutes into his day and he was already spouting poetry in his head.</p><p>Lucius was overwhelmed.</p><p>The sharpness of his sudden exhale drew her attention to him and he had placed himself under the microscope of her scrutiny, dancing brown eyes traced their way shamelessly along his exposed length.</p><p>She sat up, and he stayed sprawled out, watching her stretch. Entirely unselfconscious in her nakedness and he felt a stirring in his loins that was in no way related to his body's waking physiology, but everything to do with this woman beside him.</p><p>"Good morning," he ventured by way of polite conversation.</p><p>What did one say in moments such as these?</p><p>There was no primer on the hump and dump. No Pureblood text for how to proceed with the societal niceties of extricating oneself from an alcohol-fueled transaction of the flesh paid for in sweat and the glorious ache of muscles put to vigorous use.</p><p>
  <em>Very vigorous use.</em>
</p><p>He felt himself rise to the occasion under that permafrost gaze, all cool detachment, and carnal knowing. Damned if Lucius wasn't even more turned on, driven by the need to remember what she looked like when stripped of the armor of this distance between… what? Friends? Acquaintance? Lovers?</p><p>He reaches for her. "Stay."</p><p>She did.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Hermione, there's something I would like to discuss with you before you leave." She looked up.</p><p>His stare was full of purpose, resolute. It was as if he was just only now coming out of the Imperius curse and was finally taking control of his life. But he knew it was quite the opposite. He was under a different spell this time and was quite impossible to break free.</p><p>"I have to see you again," Hermione sighed and tried to look away. Lucius reached out, his other hand on her temple—not allowing her to break his stare. She felt her eyes grow wet and closed them.</p><p>"Lucius, this was a moment of pure weakness, I meant what I said, I—"</p><p>"I know. But I cannot wait until then. I hardly think I can go a day without seeing you, Hermione. I will leave her but I cannot promise it will be soon. Divorce is messy and takes time. However long it takes, I can't wait until then," this much is true. He had abandoned all notion of control the moment he had tasted her lips. When he had been given a glimpse of what life could be like with her. If she wanted him to beg, he will.</p><p>"I need you."</p><p>Tears fell down her cheeks.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The thought of being without him left her empty and hollow. She couldn't wait either. Hermione couldn't explain it but she felt connected to Lucius in some way she couldn't verbalize. There was a thread that tugged at her when he was away while her insides burned when they were together. The chemistry, the comfort she felt in his presence was something either could not ignore. But it wasn't right. It wasn't right from the start.</p><p>"I don't want you to leave her on my behalf," she whispered, feeling the guilt started to kick in. She didn't personally know Narcissa but Hermione didn't want the woman to feel the crushing anguish she felt when Ron broke up with her.</p><p>"It was bound to happen," he smiled sadly. "I just didn't have the reason to do it before. We were fine coexisting with one another. But now…"</p><p>A beat passed then a minute. But it felt like an eternity to them.</p><p>"Lucius?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>Her voice suddenly grew somber. "Don't play with me. The nature of this situation is all based off on lies and whether it is right or wrong, I'm putting my trust in you. Even though it's long over between the two of you, you're still going behind your wife's back. Please don't go behind mine. I do not know how long I can do this before breaking."</p><p>He had already planned out everything in his head. How he'll contact the family lawyer today to prepare the necessary papers. The divorce will happen one way or another. Anyone that got in the way will suffer his wrath.</p><p>But if verbal assurance was what she wanted right now, he'll give it to her. Hell, he'll give her the entire world in an instant if she asked him for it. "I won't. I promise."</p><p>And then he was smiling like a buffoon because there was nothing else he can do except just lived out the seconds because he was tired of doing anything but live.</p><p>This girl gave him hope.</p><p>Her doubts were swallowed once more by the feel of his lips against hers, dosing her with more of those drugging, thought-stalling kisses.</p><p>They were a beautiful disaster waiting to happen but he won't have her any other way.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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